


Fireplace Cuddles

by cowboykylux



Category: Paterson (2016)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fireplaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25596430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: Paterson's favorite months are the cooler ones, when the temperatures drop and he can spend his evenings curled up on the couch with you.
Relationships: Paterson (Paterson)/Reader, Paterson (Paterson)/You
Kudos: 5





	Fireplace Cuddles

He likes it, when the temperature drops and the chill of Autumn begins to set in.

Likes it for many reasons – the faces of his passengers when they realize he’s got the heat turned on (not all bus drivers in the area have the luxury), the excuse to wear sweaters and gloves, the cheerful music he plays over the intercom. If you asked Paterson, he’d say that he’d much prefer it cold outside, so he could provide warmth and comfort for a bus-full of people, as opposed to trying to cool down those angry and irritated and sweating from the summer heat.

But above all else, what he loves most about the cooler months, is coming home to you. Your warm home that you share together is never more cozy than it is during the fall and winter; there are thick quilted blankets and throws draped across practically every sitting area, candles fill the air with scents of warm spices, and on the chilliest of nights, the fireplace crackles to life in the living room, creating a complete atmosphere of pure comfort.

It’s one such night now, Paterson finds as he’s wiping his feet on the welcome mat.

He’s just come home from a long day of driving around and around, dreaming up poems about the way you look by the firelight. It’s how he spends his shifts around town when few people are bothered to brave the chilly weather, when his routes become more and more scarce. He’ll imagine you bundled up safe and secure at home, perhaps wearing one of his big sweaters, perhaps wearing a pair of his thick socks. You always tease him gently on how big his feet are, how his socks practically come up your calves when you steal them.

He doesn’t have to dream anymore, not with you smiling at him from the living room where you’ve tucked your feet up and under yourself, warm blanket draped across your lap. He doesn’t have to dream, as he blushes, smiles right back.

Wordlessly he joins you, shucks off his outer layers and peels back the blanket just enough to slip in next to you on the couch, just enough to have you settle against him, just enough to exchange some soft sweet kisses as he warms himself up.

It’s then that he finds the words of his poem flowing freely now, and he doesn’t hesitate to keep them hidden, doesn’t try to hold them back. His notebook is in his backpack, but he can’t be bothered to leave your side, not now. You listen to the words as they come, and you hum out in happy affirmation that the work is good, that you like it.

You’ll ask him about his day in a moment, offer him some piping hot tea that he can wrap his hands around, but for now, you’re both more than content to breathe in time, to close your eyes and bask together in the glow of the fire.


End file.
